Midnight Hope
by LadySageTheHedgehog
Summary: A small cry echoed through the air as pearly moonlight eyes shone looking up with hidden wisdom. A young sickly boy who was a born of mystical means. The fabled hope. The warrior. The Meta Knight.


**Many people are Interested in the meaning of life, myself included, but few seem to feel that life is not precious. Sure some might think that their life is filled with pain,** suffering **and struggles but they hold on to their life and cling to it with some air of interest. Their finite life limited by the inevitable death. I cannot stress enough that my reasoning behind the lack of care I have for my own life and that of all life is not nihilistic.**

 **I am not giving up on my life, no suicide** intents **or attempts, no death wishes. I just didn't ask to be born and am tired of the burden of living. The reason I choose to live on despite seeing little point in doing so is for those who I love and for those who love me. They do not see life as I do and I do not disrespect of judge them for that in the slightest but their belief that life is sacred and precious, emotionally prevents me from welcoming myself into the arms of death.**

 **I do not believe in authority or dominion and am sickened by the way that inhabitants treat the world. My refusal to respect the constant ignorance of those who deem these acts fit for living harmoniously or anybody who allows money to stand in the way of rationality.**

 **Life is supposedly great and supposedly a gift yet the way it is looked upon by money hungry people have made me lose my respect for any form of sanctity of life.**

 **I could jump up on a soapbox and fight for our rights and animal rights and I could try and increase our individual time on this shimmer star, but for what purpose? Our lives are finite blips of existence in a seemingly** in-finite **universe; our lives will eventually mean nothing to anybody when all who cared for us are too, dead.**

 **Depending** upon **whom one asks, the question, "What is the meaning of life?" may be one of the most profound questions existence or nothing more than a nonsensical request built on conceptual confusion, much like, "What does the colour red taste like?"**

 **Let your mind wonder, and you may not like what you see.**

 **While the mind is exposed to countless emotions each day, both good and bad, it influences stress for survival purposes when a danger is perceived. Thus, the mind imagines negative obstacles when it drifts and considers your reaction or feeling to that situation. While this leaves people in fear of uncertainty, we should let this mystery fuel our pursuit of greatness.**

 **Transform this ambiguity into a clean palette or fresh start. If you're dreading tomorrow, you're living this moment at half speed, likely holding onto something in your past, and missing opportunities.**

 **Be it a job, relationship, freedom, luxury, youth, or anything, scarcity is contextual. If you believe your best days are behind you, you are not living up to your fullest potential. Some people don't believe they have the resources to create a better tomorrow when the only tool you need is an open mind.**

 **You should never value anything more than yourself because nothing is certain or forever. When you lose sight of your own value, you lose your purpose by valuing impermanent circumstances. The future holds more opportunity than you think. Appreciate uncertainty and look forward to the possibilities of tomorrow.**

 **What separates the successful, happy and interesting, from the unsuccessful, unhappy and dull is the willingness to take risks and continually strive for progression. Wander the unknown, even if falling on your face is at risk. Whether it's a blind date, inspired idea, or an unexpected career opportunity, embrace it as a chance to learn and grow. Too many individuals are afraid of their potential and never recognize the level of greatness they are truly capable of.**

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 _ **Chapter One:**_ _Birth of The Hope_

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In a small wooden hut, where a birth had taken place and two figures were left alone…

Tears. Raw tears. Pure tears of sorrow, which could move, even the coldest of hearts. The tsunami of pain crashed louder than the explosions in the quarry and the water washed in the town like it was no more substantial than an architect's scale model abandoned on the sands. It was the extinguishing of a dream, of a way of life, easier than wet fingers on a candle flame.

It wasn't just the buildings that got taken out to sea it was everything. In its wake we were like empty jars on a shelf, still holding our forms but without anything left inside.

The desolation she felt was all consuming. Her mind became an icy wasteland the wind howled in her soul and wrapped icy tentacles around her heart so tightly it almost stopped beating.

To come so close to pure love and loose it so violently is something no medication can heal. The weeping mother held the limp bundle in her arms as pearly droplets ran down her face continuously. This time she couldn't simply cry a river, build a bridge and get over it because she had no will to build.

Grief. Feels like emptiness in you heart, a shear of nothingness that somehow takes over and holds your soul and threatens to kill you entirely. It gives you this heavy feeling that's like the weight of the world is resting on your shoulders and there is nothing you can do to get out from under it. Its like this hole in your heart that is the shape of the one you lost and that makes you feel the need to wipe away any non-existent tears that you want to form but can't.

Midnight. He was a beautiful blue like a midwinter night an hour before pitch dark; that colour you see as velvet no matter what the texture is. Yet even under my chilled fingertips the fabric was far from soft. Her husband was away when she had given birth.

The hope was dead. Her beloved son was dead, "Meta..." pained words forced out of the mother's mouth in sorrow and anger, "Why?!" she cried out stumbling to her side. Her bottom lip curled as a shining determination temporarily covered up the sorrow lurking in her eyes, "The elder…Kabu…yes Kabu will know what to do," she said before grabbing a thin shawl that hung from the round shaped door and flung it around her and her baby who was in a bundle of wool.

The mother stumbled as she entered the now dark and uninviting woods. Stepping into the forest robbed you of one sense and heightened the others. It was disorientating to be almost blinded but given the ears of a wolf. Even the soft susurration of the branches felt heavy in the ears.

The sense of smell was sensitized; the loam in the earth and the decomposing leaves made the atmosphere close and thick. The blackness nurtured a sense of claustrophobia inside you even though the woodland stretched unbroken for miles.

The narrow path, which was made uneven by the knotted roots that crossed it, branched at intervals. There was no map to follow, but even if there were the perpetual dark would prevent you from using it.

Soon the mother fell to her knees in front of the great Kabu. Kabu is a brown statue of a head. It has a flat base that rounds off at the top; two deep black square eyes and between those sits a slight nose. A gaping, open mouth appears beneath the eyes and nose.

Everything was silent apart from the mother's crying as she picked herself off the ground and entered Kabu as the statue gave her entrance. What she did not know is that the statue had been expecting her, she was holding her dead baby in her arms as she closed her eyes. A single tear dropped onto the warp star holder and a blue light flared upwards in beautiful wispy spirals, which formed around the child and life, was breathed back into him.

The mother was shocked. She had a big stupid grin on her face, as she cradled her now sleeping baby, "Never again, never again shall I leave you," she mumbled quietly whispering soothing words to the baby heading back home, it was almost dawn. Marking the beginning of a new hope!

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But that was four years ago. A small round shape, the most beautiful shade of midnight blue was in a field surrounded in flowers as he pocked a daisy smiling to his self as he stroked in tenderly admiring it's beauty. The ends of its white petals blushed pink. He held the flower being careful not to pull it as he suddenly heard his name being called.

"Hey Short Stuff!" that all to familiar voice called out with the same roughness and anger.

Meta looked up and peered at the approaching pink figure with curled and pointing horns protruding from his head, "Meta! Everyone was looking for you! Do you know how worried we were!" he cried roughly grabbing Meta and yanking him back home.

The younger puff to weak to struggle watched as the daisy fell to the ground lifeless, as tears welled up in his eyes, "Pathetic," Galacta muttered to him self as he hurt Meta even more by twisting when they neared there village.

Meta used to this sort of treatment bit back a cry of pain as he felt his arm burning up around his paw. Galacta was just angry right? He still loved him didn't he? Meta was conflicted as they neared a rather spacious chateau house. Every batamon had one passed down through ancestry and as they neared closer, the honeyed stone of the chateau was smooth and warm to the touch in the first heat of summer light glinting. The straight walls are interrupted at the corners by pronounced circular portions and the grey roof is a series of slopes and cones.

Meta entered the home to find a worried mother sitting in an armchair. Meta was silent looking down as Galacta coughed awkwardly, "Aunty Rose?" he mumbled quietly but so they could both hear.

Rose leapt up and sailing across the room in relief and embraced Meta in a hug, "We told you to stop! If you want to explore you have to tell someone," she said in a panicked tone breathing a bit heavily, 'Our Hope has to be well' she thought but didn't say anything. She couldn't tell him that he was the last hope yet…not yet…he wasn't ready to face the truth so soon, he pulled away and let go, "Meta please go to your bed," she said softly and Meta happily obeyed rushing to his room with his fragile stature. She placed on hand on her forehead as she sighed quietly looking at the burning fireplace and walking over doused water over it and it sizzled into silence only wisps of smoke curling up.

One blow could make him crumple like a wet leaf. Meta was the hope. He would bring light to those trapped in darkness. Why did her son have to be the chosen one? She thought quietly sniffing. What was in that strange boy's mind? He wasn't like the other kids for sure, she turned her attention to Galacta, and "It's time to go home to your mum Galacta," she said softly recovering. Galacta simply nodded and strode out of the house leaving Rose holding her chest and quietly trembling.

Meta was in his bed and was looking out the night sky, he peeked his head out the window when a quick but sly shadow crossed in front of his window and suddenly a projectile hit his cheek HARD, it stung and he fell back onto his bed realising his cheek was emitting some red substance but it was only a tiny cut.

He whimpered and closing his eyes fell into blissful dreams and sleep.

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Hello **Everyone. This is my FIRST fan fiction so I apologize for any mistakes or errors. Pretty Please review as it gives me the will to continue. :3 Love you all and thank you!**


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